Trips to the airport are almost always accompanied with an adventure. Whether it’s a flight to see family, traveling for work, or an exotic trek across the globe, I love exploring new places.

When in the air, there are few things I find more beautiful than watching an endless sunset over a billowing sea of clouds; Or seeing the webbing of streetlights illuminating the night sky from above.  Each city appears as a unique fingerprint of civilization. But with this beauty is often one thing – turbulence. My most recent flight shifted and shook like a ship in a storm the whole way back to Dallas.

Turbulence – violent or unsteady movement of air or water; conflict or confusion.

I don’t pretend to know anything about the aerodynamics and science that are involved in keeping the airplane afloat. One thing I do know – an experienced pilot does not fear turbulence. He or she maneuvers through the speed bumps in the sky with ease, knowing without a doubt that the plane will remain in the air.

As I tried to convince myself that this choppy ride was no different from sitting in one of those dollar massage chairs at any shopping mall, I began to think about how turbulent this last year has been for so many.

This past year has been full of bumps, many of which were unexpected and left us with bruises. When facing these unexpected bumps, it’s easy to focus solely on the uncertainty of the situation, or on the immediate pain and knee jerk reactions. Through the lens of eternity, these bumps are miniscule. This is something that that is often difficult for us to remember as we face imminent threats. In every season, it’s important to remember the promises our God has made to us. The sorrow may last for the night, but His joy will come in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

When we inevitably face turbulence, we need to remember who is in control. Are you trying to steer the plane? Or are you giving control to the one who deserves to be in the pilot seat?

Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the whole earth.
He never becomes faint or weary;
there is no limit to his understanding.
He gives strength to the faint
and strengthens the powerless.
Youths may become faint and weary,
and young men stumble and fall,
but those who trust in the Lord
will renew their strength;
they will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not become weary,
they will walk and not faint.

Is. 40: 28-31

I knocked on the door with my trembling fist. I stood waiting for the door to open for what felt like an eternity. Standing beside me were three perfect strangers, but I felt safe with them. When the door opened, I saw a man, wrinkled from head to toe, with a large belly hanging over his blue striped boxers. He had a gentle smile, kind eyes, and peppery hair. He invited us inside, gave us the best seats in the house, and offered us the little food and juice he had. This man had no idea why we had come to his place, but he welcomed us like he had been expecting us. After some superficial chatter, I asked if I could share my story with him. I told him about my family, home, and finally, my Savior. I had practiced over and over how to share the gospel, and when I began telling him about Jesus, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I had brought a tool with pictures to help me. I suddenly felt very confident in what I was doing. But out of nowhere, the man cut me off. He stopped me, took the pictures out of my hand, and said, “Thank you for sharing, but God is telling me that I need to share this story with YOU.”

The houses we visited in Colombia all had lavish decorations on the outside. Each street had all the hustle and bustle of an average American metroplex, with a small-town feel. Red velvet curtains with tassels hung in every window, and the streets were filled with buses, taxis, motorcycles, and mules pulling old, rickety carts headed in every direction. Stoplights and street signs were just suggestions; if traffic were not moving fast enough, a two-lane road would soon become five lanes. Every building was painted a different extravagant color, with salsa music blasting from every street corner. The outside of every house was bright and inviting, but the inside was always empty and dark. This was done to give the appearance they had more.

I soon realized their houses mirrored their relationship with the Lord. They painted up their lives to look like the “good people” we all want to be, but inside, their hearts were empty. On the outside, they had everything, but like many people, they hid their deepest struggles. When we suppress these struggles, we allow the cracks to grow longer, more profound, unmanageable. 

When we try to hide our struggles or burdens, they become heavier than necessary.  Jesus calls us, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). He promises to transform us from the inside out. He promises to be the firm foundation on which we stand. We no longer have to hide behind a painted facade because He has taken what was old and broken and made it beautiful. When someone truly understood and accepted the good news, it was like you could see the lights turn on, and their “house” was no longer as dark and empty as it appeared before. Our true beauty is exposed when we put our value in Jesus rather than in other people. 

I used to tell people that I love Natural disasters. Now, I know that sounds like a morbid thing to say, but when you think about it, lightning is just incredible. It all blows my mind: tornadoes, Tsunamis, Volcanoes, Hurricanes! Don’t get me wrong; I would never want to be caught within a 100-mile radius of these events. But the natural power of wind, rain, electricity, heat, etc., just takes my breath away.

I just love storms. A lightning storm at night is one of my favorite things. Watching the lights dance across the sky is so peaceful. The pitter-patter of the raindrops dancing across the rooftops, mixed with the booming bass of the thunder, is like listening to the sky compose a concerto for the clouds. The beauty of the electrified night sky takes my breath away. I am left in awe of the power displayed in the lightning. Although it is beautiful, I know it is dangerous. My fear of lightning brings with it a vast array of emotions.

When I think about a storm, it reminds me of how I should fear the Lord. For most of my life, I was confused when told I should fear the Lord. Why should I be afraid of my creator, my sustainer, my savior? How can I fear a God I know loves me deeper than I can even imagine? I still don’t have answers to every question, but I am learning more about a reverent fear.

Synonyms of the word fear include admiration, apprehension, consternation, dread, esteem, fear, fright, respect, reverence, shock, veneration, and wonder. While the word Fear may be thought of by most as having a negative connotation, the words so closely related to it do not! Fear is typically an unexpected emotion. Something that surprises you leaves you in dismay. But when we fear the Lord, we are left with a sense of wonder and respect. We are in awe of His mighty power. Fearing the Lord does not have to be the same as being afraid of Him. Now I know He is all-powerful and could crush me with a single thought. But I also know He is gracious, loving, Just, and His mercy never ends. I understand that God does not give me what I deserve. And for that, I admire Him even more.

So then, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure.

Philippians 2:12-13

I find myself visiting this room often. Never on purpose, and I never plan to stay long.
Frankly, I never plan on going there in the first place.

This room is a dark room.
Not Pitch black, but just dark enough it is hard to see.
It’s a small room, with not much inside.
The cracks in the walls are just big enough to allow anxiety to slip in.
Worry quickly follows.
The fear of returning to this room keeps me there longer;
Ironically.

There are no windows.
There is no door.
There is no hope.

But.
There is a light switch.
The Light switch is across the room.

The heavy weight of darkness keeps me from moving towards it.
The fear is almost deafening.
The anxiety, the self pity keep my feet glued to the floor.

But the light switch continues to beckon me.
It calls my name.
Louder than the fear.

I stand to my feet.
Slowly.

As I stand, the weight of darkness pushes me in the opposite direction.
I think about giving up.
Returning to my dark corner.

But the light switch calls my name louder this time.
Cheers encouragement in my direction.

It tells me I am strong.
I stand again.

This time the darkness feels lighter.
The fear is not as loud.
The anxiety creeps back through the cracks it came from.

I slowly make my way across the room.
The light switch is mere feet away.
It feels like miles.

I extend my arm as far as it will reach.
I feel my fingers brush the end of the switch.

Almost there.

The light switch calls out Louder now.
The encouragement, the JOY, is all I can hear.
I reach a little farther.

Finally.
Finally the the light is on.

The darkness has no place to hide.
The light is overwhelming.
Blinding.
Breathtaking.
Consuming.

Powerful, and yet gentle.
I am wrapped in peace.

I want to stay in this room.

In this consuming Light.
I never intend on leaving this room.

But when I do…
It is never on purpose, and I never intend on leaving for long.
Frankly, I never intend on leaving at all.

But I can be assured,

I will always find my way back to the light.

we had the sentence of death within ourselves so that we would not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead; 10 who delivered us from so great a peril of death, and will deliver us, He on whom we have set our hope. And He will yet deliver us, 11 you also joining in helping us through your prayers, so that thanks may be given by many persons on our behalf for the favor bestowed on us through the prayers of many.  2 Corinthians 1: 9-11

 

There are times where I wish I could treat life like a Mad Lib. I want to know exactly what will go in each empty space, and whatever story I create will be the one I go with. But sadly life is a little more difficult than “insert noun here” and “past tense verb”

Life is full of a lot of blank spaces. Sometimes we encounter just a few at a time, and other times it feels like all we have written on the page is

Once Upon a Time….”

I’ve recently entered one of the biggest transitional times of my life. I graduated from college. I moved home. I found a temporary job. I began looking for a real job. I discovered I have no friends here. I need to make friends here. I need to find ways to get plugged in. To my church. To my community.
I just need to make my life feel less temporary. Finishing college mid year has really thrown me for a loop. I feel like I should be packing up and heading back to Arkansas any day now. I have yet to accept that chapter of my life is over. I wrote the  end, when I feel like the page should say

To Be Continued…

It makes me think of a Shel Silverstein poem, where he talks about the Whatifs.

“Last night, while I lay thinking here,
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
And pranced and partied all night long
And sang their same old Whatif song…”

Now, my Whatifs may not sing the same tune Mr. Silverstein sang. but I frequently ask the dreaded “what if…” questions. These questions are like a poison. They seep into my brain and spoil my plans for the future my making me regret my decisions in the past.

What if I had chosen a different school to go to?

What if I had chosen a different career path?

What if I am no good at teaching?

The questions continue day in and day out. I can’t overcome the Whatifs by ignoring them. I can only win the war against the Whatifs with HowCanI’s. Instead of dwelling on Whether or not I will be a good teacher, I should focus on – How Can I improve my teaching? How can I continue to learn and grow? How can I better prepare myself now for my future?

I can’t just ask these questions. I have to act on these questions.

I can’t allow my life to be consumed by the blank spaces. Instead of waiting for the words to write themselves, I can begin to fill in the holes. I can overcome the WhatIfs and be confident in the person I am becoming, the future starting right now. I may be in a transition period, but I can choose to make the best of it.

One word at a time.